


513

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, Episode Related, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-26
Updated: 2007-09-26
Packaged: 2018-12-27 13:04:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12081606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: POV Justin, just stuff he's thinking as he leaves to go to New York.





	513

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

He'd made you cry, he'd fucked you 'til you passed out, he'd made you laugh, he'd given you redemption, and he'd thrown you out on your ass. He'd made you feel loved, he'd given you bruises, he'd saved your life. He'd become your life. 

And you'd made him yours.

He once said that he'd had you. That love was something straight people told themselves they were in so they could get laid, and if that was what you wanted, you could go find yourself a pretty little girl and get married. He'd told you that you couldn't have him.

Well, you deserved a fucking gold medal because you'd managed to take him from that to practically fucking begging you to marry him. To buying you a palace and declaring you his prince. To admitting that he would give anything, do anything, be anything, to make you happy. And now, here you were, a week later, up and leaving the state. Why? Because you're a psycho. You smile to yourself as you imagine the look on the face of your 17-year-old self if you told him that Brian Kinney had given up his wicked ways and proclaimed to the world that you were the only one for him, and you said "mmmm no. I think I'll go to New York instead." But there was some profound reason that leaving and trying to make it on your own, now of all times, was the best thing to do. What that reason was, you're not quite sure. Something about sacrifice. 

You busy yourself with stuffing your clothes into your duffel bag. You'd hoped it would keep your mind off the surreal feeling that you were really leaving, but all it did was remind you that you were removing yourself, bit by bit, from him, from his apartment. You leave a shirt that you know he loves on you, plain, boring, covered in multicoloured splatters of paint. He paces around the other side of the apartment, double beam in hand, avoiding looking at you. He seems like he's in a daze. You're both so fucking in shock that you're really saying goodbye, that you're really not going to see each other every day, or go to sleep together, that before long, you'll be living separate lives, sleeping in separate beds. Then again, deep down you know that your lives have always been tragically intertwined, and always will be. 

You pack away the very last sock, and have nothing else to do but accep the drink from Brian and pace around the loft with him, avoiding going near each other because it's too much. He finally breaks the silence by asking you when your flight is. You tell him, then make small talk about where you're going to stay. You know mushy isn't really his thing, so you try to keep it light, because you know this is killing him. Probably about as much as it's killing you. He assures his faith in you, like he always does, and it almost breaks you, because he knows you better than anyone else. And, something in his voice sounds regretful, sorrowful. But he must know this isn't the end. 

"I'll be back" you reassure him, "And you'll come there, we're going to see each other all the time-" 

"You don't know that." He turns to face you, his voice husky in his throat. "Neither do I." He gathers himself and continues calmly. "Whether we see each other next weekend, or next month..." he takes a deep breath, "Never again....doesn't matter, it's only time."

It's only time. Is it really necessary to be that heart-breakingly beautiful? You can barely even look at him. You put down your glass of beam, and notice a small red velvet box. The rings. He didn't return them. He didn't give up. He knew this wasn't the end, and he still wanted to marry you someday. Or, maybe he hadn't gotten around to returning them yet. But, you don't want to jump to conclusions. 

"You didn't return them?" You expected a quip about "oh, yeah, I've been busy." or "Shit, I forgot about that."

He looks you in the eyes and says "I didn't return them."

Goddammit, why does he have to make this so hard? Here you were, content with telling yourself that it wouldn't be that big of a change, and you weren't losing anything, and then he has to go and do everything in his power to turn you into a crying princessy mess. He's keeping the rings, for God's sake. That's so ridiculously romantic, even for him. Then, you remember why you're leaving in the first place. He's trying to change himself for you, and you won't let that happen. Because it's not about the rings, or how much he spent on the house, or the 2 1/2 kids and staying together because there was a piece of paper that said you had to. All it is is knowing that he would. He would do it all for you. That's the thought that lets you know that things are going to be ok. You walk to him and look him in the eyes.

"We don't need rings or vows to prove that we love each other. We already know that." 

He lowers his head and blinks a few times. then, you see a small crease at his mouth that isn't familiar. In that instant, you feel like you can't breathe, and you realize that he's crying. Or at least, trying not to. And it hits you: In all the time you've been together, everything you've been through, you've never seen him cry. Once. God knows he's seen you cry about 4000 times. And now, after 5 years, he's actually shedding a tear. And it's over you. God. You can't breathe. 

Finally, he takes a deep breath, and, fighting to keep his voice steady, looks at you, and says "You did it."

"Did what?" 

"Became-" His voice breaks, and you fight not to dissolve into queeny sobs. He lowers his head and gathers some of his insurmountable strength. "-The best homosexual you could possibly be." 

And the flood gates are open. You know that no matter what happened, how close you were, you two would never be the couple that broke down into hysterical crying, clutching each other. It just wasn't your style. So, he was fighting to control himself and you would do the same. In all honesty, you were probably doing a better job than he was right now. But it was hard. You ran your hands up his arms and shoulders and knew that telling him you loved him wouldn't be enough right now. You just look in his eyes and try not to cry, while he does the same to you. He smiles weakly, then tries to nod matter-of factly, before he grabs you and kisses you like kissing's not enough. It's like he's trying to surround himself in you, and you let go of every last inch of your soul that you've been holding back all these years, and hope he really gets it. And that's when you realize: he's doing the same thing. You hold onto as much of each other as you can, and confront what you were afraid of: That if you let yourself get too close, in too deep, you couldn't make yourself let go. He broke the kiss, and you saw tears streaming down his face unabashedly. You saw everything you had loved with everything you had since day one. 

As the clothes come off slowly, you look at him, and all you can think is this is the moment when you realize that it all really happened. You managed to get everything you ever wanted. You see it all in brief moments like a movie playing in the back of your mind, as the snow starts to carefully drift through the night outside your window, and he claims your body as his once and for all.  


_"where you headed?"_  
 _"No place special."_  
 _"I can change that."_

 

_"You do...you give a shit."_

_"I wish I could remember."_  
 _"I wish I could forget."_   


_"I promise you won't forget this one."_

_"And when I come home, I'll be doing exactly what I want to be doing. Coming home to you."_

_"Some asshole once told me that when you really believe in something, you have to sacrifice everything."_

_"And as for the times when you're not around...I wouldn't particularly mind it if you were."_

_"Where are you going?"_  
 _"I'll figure it out."_  
 _"Let me know."_   


_"Please, don't let anything happen to him."_

_"I'm taking a chance on love."_   


He arches back, that look of ecstacy that you've known and loved spread aross his face. It all comes to an end in a wave of passion, pain and love. He collapses on top of you, breathing heavily. You can barely breathe under his weight, but you would rather suffocate than have him move right now. There's too much to say, and no way to say it, so you just breathe his name into his ear, almost pleading, only you don't know what for.  He lifts himself up on his elbows and looks at you, the sweet hurt in his eyes tearing into you, the loudest proclaimation of his love you've ever heard. He runs his hand down your face and you try to smile, and he buries his head in your shoulder, clutching your hair, his breath hot on your shoulder. Your hearts beat together, and the loft is filled with silence. You fall asleep holding each other like your lives depended on it, and it almost seemed like they really did. 

    You woke up and looked at the clock. It was quarter to nine, and you realized, with fear in your chest, that you needed to leave. You disentangle yourself regretfully from Brian, and pad down the stairs to the door to get your coat. All your bags are by the door, and everything seems to be in order. You glance back at him and you freeze. The man who gave you everything. The man you'd broken. The man you'd made. In years full of violence, changing homes, changing friends, changing jobs, he had been your only constant. Your life didn't even remotely resemble the life you'd had, or the life you'd imagined for yourself. And only he was to blame. You watched him sleep peacefully, and wondered how this one man, looking so harmless, could have made your life what it was. The untamable beast who you never in your wildest dreams had truly imagined that you'd really manage to claim as yours and only yours. Well there you go, Taylor, all the nonsense dreams and the stolen confessions, you got it all. You don a melancholy smirk and shake your head incredulously.

You pick up your bags and sling them onto your shoulder. You carefully slide the door open, not wanting to wake him. You have the sudden urge to run over and kiss him, hold onto him. It's your last opportunity for God knows how long. But you know that if you do it now you'd never be able to stop. So you just look at him one last time, walked through the door and slid it shut. You leaned against the heavy iron door and tried to steady your breathing. From this moment on, you could only get further away from him. 

But you knew he was right. That really, it didn't matter.

Because it was only state lines.

Only Miles.

Only highways.

Only plane rides. 

Only time.  


End file.
